


Dulces Horas, Gratas Horas (Sweet Times, Pleasant Times)

by LydiaOLydia



Category: One Day at a Time (TV 2017)
Genre: A little shippy, AU after season 3, Christmas, Fluff, Gen, One Shot, christmas food, nochebuena, rated Teen only for some slightly bad language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:09:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28215996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LydiaOLydia/pseuds/LydiaOLydia
Summary: Penelope and Schneider have a sweet surprise planned for Christmas . . .
Relationships: Penelope Alvarez & Schneider
Comments: 20
Kudos: 24
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	Dulces Horas, Gratas Horas (Sweet Times, Pleasant Times)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [metaphasia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/metaphasia/gifts).



> Hi, metaphasia! I really loved your idea of something holidayish and fluffy with Pen and Schneider and I hope this hits the spot. I still haven't seen all of Season 4, so I tried to keep the timeline vague. Please feel free to consider this AU or something from earlier in the series.  
> I hope it makes your Yuletide bright!

Penelope rubbed her hands together and then tapped at Schneider’s door. Once. Twice. Three times. That was the signal they had agreed upon. It was midnight, but they still wanted to keep this top secret. She couldn’t peel the goofy smile off of her face. She was surprised when he had texted her earlier today with his suggestion. She had never considered it, but the more she pondered it, the more right it seemed, especially considering how down she had been lately. She needed to shake things up a little.

It was December, which was usually one of her favorite months of year. No heat waves. Visits to the clinic slowed down as people made their holiday plans. Time for family and a fresh new year ahead, with no mistakes or problems. But Christmas didn’t feel quite right this year. Oh, the packages were wrapped and the tree had been trimmed within an inch of its life (including all the Cuban flags and the ‘World’s Best Abuelita’ ornaments that magically multiplied each year). The apartment was clean enough to double as a damn surgical suite, but it echoed with loneliness right now.

And all because the kids were spending the week before Nochebuena with Victor and Nicole in Oregon. She was glad her ex was in a healthy place. Really. It meant Alex and Elena could have some of them their old dad back. But it still sucked. A tiny bit. She had sacrificed, spending holidays away from them while she was in the Army. Now before they were even grown, they were slipping away. She sighed, a hint of old wistfulness tugging at her new happy mood.

Before she could spiral deeper, the door flew open. Schneider stood there, sleepy but somehow giddy at the same time. His silly smirk brought back hers. And now they were both two simpering doofuses in the doorway.

_ Let’s bring things down a notch. _ She clucked her tongue. “You know, considering you’re the super, you don’t have much consideration for the hinges of these doors.”

He put his hands on his hips, mirroring her usual aggravated stance. “Focus on what’s important here. What about Lydia? Did she see you sneak out?”

Penelope shook her head, curls popping out from her loose bun. “Nah, she’s snoring away. Some crema di vie with a kick of extra rum and she was out. I even drank some of that disgusting reindeer snot to make her happy.” 

She started to giggle, not sure if it was the buzz from all the sugar in the eggnog or the topsy-turvy excitement. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.” She had been a world-class sneak as a kid, but it had been a while since she had gone behind her mother’s back. like this.

Schneider blinked, pupils wide. “I know. We’ve never done something like this before. What do we do now?” His voice held a hint of nervousness.

She stepped back, aggravated. A bit. “Come on, bobo. Making buñuelos as a surprise present for Mami was your idea. First you convince me to creep out of the house at midnight like we were having a wild fling. Now I'm supposed to come up with a baking plan? Who do I look like, Martha Stewart?” She gestured at her ratty sweatpants and Dodgers shirt, then tilted her face up to him, waiting for an answer. 

Schneider smoothed his hands over his apron covered with dancing candy canes. “Okay, yeah. I've got a plan that's good enough. Probably. I’ve got to admit, at first I thought buñuelos were those things your Mom keeps in her purse.”

Penelope wanted to laugh (only a little bit), but she held it in. “Those are panuelos. Buñuelos are like a doughnut fritter kind of thing.” She sketched a loose shape with her finger, trying to make a figure eight and then gave up. “Hell, what they really are is a million calories. But nothing says Nochebuena like hardening the arteries.”

He bobbed his head. “Right, right.” He clapped his hands together. “Shall we?”

He practically skipped down the hallway but she followed at a more sedate pace.

She paused when they reached the kitchen. She had been in there a few times to grab quick snacks or a soda, but it surprised her every time. It was huge, bright white, and gleaming with fancy kitchen gadgets that could double as torture devices. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear it was a movie set for a Diane Keaton comedy.

The sole signs of a real human life were on the counter. Schneider had been a busy elf already. The yucca and white sweet potato were peeled and stacked next to the sink, waiting to be chopped and boiled. Sitting next to them was a giant bowl of lemons and limes. Jars of flour, spices, sugar, and oil had been meticulously arranged by the stove. She was impressed, considering his usual idea of cooking was stirring his own toppings into frozen yogurt. It was a good start, but -

She tapped at her teeth, thinking. “Okay I know you said you had an amazing recipe we could surprise the family with for Nochebuena -”

“- But only your abuelita Inclán’s original recipe is good enough. I got you.”

He reached into the pocket of his jeans, handing her a yellowed sheet of notebook paper. It had been folded so many times it was falling apart. ”This came in the mail this morning. I may have to return it to Miami by personal courier, but it’s the real deal.”

She scanned it quickly. Everything looked right. “Mami told me it was never written down. Mentirosa!”

He popped his chin up, busting with pride or maybe too much caffeine. “This is the original copy. I had to bribe your Tía Mirtha to get it.”

Her eyes narrowed. “With what? A diamond tiara? Your first born?” She grabbed at his arm. “A body part? Be careful around her. Mami always said she was a bruja, don’t give her any of your hair or toenail clippings.”

A swirl of emotions crossed Schneider’s face, but he settled on fondly confused. “That is a fascinating tangent we will follow later, but no. No body parts required. It all comes down to connections. I may have guaranteed her an hour alone with Pitbull. No questions asked.” He waggled his eyebrows significantly. 

Penelope grimaced at the mental image. “Well, I’ll be forever grateful to Pitbull for taking one for the team. We haven’t had buñuelos for Christmas in years. Mami used to love making them because they were Papi’s favorites. When he was gone, I think she didn’t have the heart to do it anymore.” She flapped the paper in the air like a victory flag, “But this is awesome. I am going to be a rock star daughter now. Suck it, Tito.” Realizing how she sounded, she glanced down at her feet, shuffling them. "Not that it's a competition or anything. The holidays are about love and giving and joy." 

Schneider's mouth might curled up, but she ignored it. He couldn't understand the subtle one-upmanship of a Riera family Christmas.

But when she managed to decipher the handwriting and the old-fashioned Spanish, she sagged against the counter. “There’s no measurements. There’s no time for anything. Every other ingredient is al gusto, un poquito. Then the instructions! Make sure the oil is hotter than hellfire eternal and fry each one while reciting El Padre Nuestro one time. How the heck am I supposed to do this?” 

He shrugged. “It’s not too late to get Timbits instead. I can fly up to Vancouver and be back in a few hours.”

She almost wanted to crumple the recipe in frustration. “This was Mami’s mami’s receta. I don’t remember how she did this. I know she always measured out a handful of something, or just a pinch. I don’t even remember her hands.” She made a fist and then let it go as if to show how hopeless it all was.

He caught her gently by the shoulders. “Pen, you are a badass. You got this. Close your eyes. Let yourself remember.”

“Remember what? My grandma’s glove size?” She shook his hands off her and threw her own up in the air.

“Christmas! Maybe you don't remember your abuelita's version, but you said your Mom made these too. So, what was it like? Tucked in bed in your jammies, visions of turrón dancing in your head.” He hugged himself to demonstrate being cozy in bed, face glowing brighter than holiday lights. He looked so dang merry, he could have been a Who down in Whoville.    


She bit at her lip, remembering. “There was no going to bed early. That was for sure. I put on my itchy party dress with the ugly ruffles, pinched myself so I wouldn’t doze off at midnight mass, tore through my presents, and then fell asleep on the couch with my cousins, listening to a billion stories of allá en Cuba. But none of that is going to help us make doughnuts.”

Schneider rubbed at his beard, staring at her like she was one of his jigsaw puzzles missing a piece. “I know you don’t want me to hypnotize you -”

“ - very correct -”

“- But how about you try to really picture it? Not just how it looked. What were the tastes, the smells. What did it feel like?”

She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and tried to take herself back. She was a girl again at Mami’s side, not much taller than the kitchen counter. She could imagine it, but it was a frozen picture, a still frame from a home movie, now discolored with age. “No. It was too long ago.”

“What does Lydia sing at Christmas time?” He said, his voice low and calm.

“Sing?” Penelope frowned without opening her eyes.

“When Lydia’s in the kitchen and she’s happy, she sings to herself. What kind of music goes with buñuelos? Julio Iglesias? Tito Puente?”

It hit her in a flash. “ _ Cascabel, Cascabel. _ You know, ‘Jingle bells, Jingle bells,’” she sang lightly. She kept her eyelids shut, trying to keep the sensations close.

“Great. Chillax for a sec and trust me.” He began to hum under his breath, as if he was afraid to break a spell. Even though his humming was no match for her mother’s beautiful soprano, somehow everything clicked and the picture started rolling again in her mind. 

Her mother, half-singing, half-humming to herself, interspersed with fast, free-flowing Spanish, a mixture of love and admonishments. Now the clean grapefruit scent of Schneider’s kitchen faded away. Instead there was roasted pig wafting from the grill and agua de violetas from all the ladies. Suddenly, she knew what to do. Her eyes shot open again and she was off, chopping, boiling, salting, sprinkling. It was a dance she had learned years ago, without even realizing it. 

She found her flow by the time Schneider ran out of holiday songs (his take on  _ Santa Baby _ was truly memorable). They had a brief tussle over music, finally settling on the Boyz II Men Christmas album. They fell into a good rhythm and it was. . . weird, but good. Right somehow.

At first Schneider stayed out of the way, but before long she started bossing him around and he snapped to. He even made a decent assistant chef, working the flour and ignoring her when she nagged him about not letting the egg leak out of the sides. She hip checked him out of the way to show him how it was really done and when she sunk her fingers in the dough, it felt right, everything smooth and soft under her fingertips. Finally, she rolled the dough into snakes, looping them around like Mami used to do. Soon the air was thick with the golden scent of frying carbs and sugar. 

Then they both got slightly punchy from the late hour and there might have been a small food fight. The whole thing could have been an adorable montage out of some corny ass Hallmark movie, with added bilingual cussing (hers) and some bad karaoke (his). 

All the hard work and nonsense was worth it, when she took that first sticky sweet bite with a hint of licorice from the anise. It was her childhood in one mouthful. Her throat locked up and tears tickled at her eyelashes, wanting to leak out. Sure, some things were changing this year, but she had also gotten something back. She had managed to stop time for moment, like one of Elena's superheroes. 

She swiped at her eyelids, careful to not get syrup in them and not wanting to give too much emotion away. “We nailed it. We just have to do it again tomorrow while she's sharing all the hot chismes with the relatives in the living room. It’s going to knock her chancletas off.”

Schneider fidgeted with his apron strings, silent for once. Had she left him speechless?

“Seriously, I don’t even know how to thank you. It’s perfect for Mami. And for me.” She added, wanting him to understand she was truly grateful. This had started out as another one of his last minute harebrained schemes, but it had turned out to be the perfect thing for her grumpy, grinchy mood.

Schneider rolled his shoulders with a shrug. “No problem. After all, I love you.” 

Then he got a stunned guppy look, realizing what he had said. Words started tumbling out of his mouth. “By you, I mean la familia, all y’all, ustedes. Not just you. Although, you’re not bad either, I guess.” 

His ears were bright pink now. She had to rescue this poor, dumb man. She knew what he meant after all. Didn’t she? They were best friends, so they loved each other. Right?

“It’s okay, buddy.” She swallowed hard. This wasn’t easy to say, but he deserved to hear it. Besides, it happened to be true and it was the season after all. “I love you too. Come on, bring it in. Holiday hug time.” She spread her arms wide, offering a cheesy grin, but meaning it with every piece of her heart.

They wrapped their arms around each other, lightly, as soft as snowflakes on a windowsill. It felt good and not because Schneider was wearing a fuzzy sweater. There was something else there she couldn’t put her finger on. Not yet.

She breathed it all in and let herself be, for an instant. A sparky  _ something _ filled her insides, warm and tingling all at once, like that peppermint hot chocolate she splurged on once a year. Maybe all the changes in her life weren’t bad. If nothing in her life had changed, she wouldn’t be having this right now. 

Schneider might be a mixture of aggravating and endearing with his stupid hijinks and careless kindness, but somehow he had become important to her. Not only another person to take care of, but someone who could take care of her. Sometimes. When she needed it. When she was brave enough to ask. When had that happened? How? 

He didn’t let go like she had expected. So she squeezed him a little tighter, content to live with the questions for now. She had a hunch this Christmas was going to be one to remember. And maybe she would be ready for whatever the new year would bring.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not Cuban or a native Spanish speaker, but I did my best and am happy to change something that doesn't seem right. I know there are multiple lyrics for 'Cascabel, Cascabel' but I chose the one that had the lyrics I liked the best ;-) I know Lydia came over from Cuba in the Pedro Pan program, but I like to imagine her parents got to come over later. I deliberately left that part open to interpretation.


End file.
